


The Lambent Traveler

by TheVineSpeaketh



Category: Fable (Video Games), Fable 2 (Video Game), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Demon Doors, F/M, Family History, Friendship, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABANDONED<br/>Ben Finn has a certain… way with Demon Doors. </p><p>This is a longer story than he ever imagined himself having.</p><p>(In which Ben Finn is sent through a Demon Door and ends up face to face with a Hero--just not the one he was expecting.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: And So Our Story Begins

It all began when Ben Finn decided that taking a brief detour with the Hero of Brightwall (as he’s been known by for quite some time now—Ben will never let him live it down, especially since he got so _red_ when Ben called him that) was pretty okay. After all, the men in Mourningwood had done a fantastic job the night prior of fending off the Hollow Men attack, and Walter was going ahead to wait for the hero in Bowerstone’s underground. Prince Robert—the hero’s _actual_ name, though Ben didn’t like to call him that (see point above)—had a moment where he wasn’t entirely sure if he should show his face in Bowerstone at all.

That wasn’t a moment Ben had been privy to on purpose; he’d swung around the outside of the fort to take a leak, and had happened upon the young prince having a panic attack, of all things. He’d looked up from where his head had been in his hands, and had immediately leapt to his feet, his face smoothing into an impassive expression, that monarchical sense of self-preservation kicking in faster than Ben had ever seen it. Not that he’d been around many royals. Still, he sincerely doubted he’d have seen the prince that way at all, had it not been for the fact that panic attacks can cause a certain… lack of attention.

“Ho there,” he’d said, raising his hands in a placating fashion. “Steady as she goes, your Highness. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” the prince answered, his hands folded behind his back. He worried at his lip briefly before looking down at the dog pacing around his feet, cracking a smile and scratching it behind the ears.

“Uh-huh,” Ben said, skeptical. “And you just shot up like a Hollow Man on Hallow’s Eve because you’re practicing for when a lady enters a dining room.”

“You don’t _shoot_ up when a lady enters the room,” the prince mumbled, scratching his dog’s scalp. “You rise ‘swiftly but elegantly, as if you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.’”

Ben let out a snort. “That’s some rehearsed rubbish if I’ve ever heard it,” he said, and the prince looked at him with a hesitant smile on his features, as if he wasn’t allowed to laugh. “You’re not going to find anything out here but the same sort of rebuttal, mate. Out here, everyone’s just a person, lady or no, and the most important thing is surviving, not manners.” Ben shifted, then added, “And you’re allowed to be scared.”

“I’m really not scared, I promise,” the prince said. He glanced at his feet, his hand stilling on the dog’s head. “I’m just… unsure.”

“About what? Seems like you and Walter have got it all figured out.”

The prince laughed gently, a soft sound musical and pleasant to hear, especially so close to the heart of these haunted woods. “Walter certainly has it figured out,” he said. “He seems to know who to talk to, and where we should go next, and what to do if plan A falls through. I mostly just do what he says and follow orders to the letter.” The prince smiled. “It’s refreshing to be out and about, if I’m honest. Logan—I mean, his Majesty the King—didn’t let me go anywhere. Said it was safer for me on castle grounds.” He blinked a few times, a shadow falling over his expression. “But I’m so poorly prepared to communicate with anyone out here as a result. I don’t know much of anything about current events, and what history I know is… vague. The only information I got was from Elise, who’s an old friend of mine, and Walter.”

Ben leaned against the wall of the fort, crossing his hands over his chest. “Well, I’m sure Walter will tell you what you need to know. And if not, I’m sure your friend Elise can catch you up on things. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear you’re in Bowerstone and out of the castle for a change.”

And there it was—that shadow again, but this time it caused those proud shoulders to slump. “Elise is dead,” he said, and before Ben could even think about doing some awful things to his toes using his pistol, he offered up a smile, sad though it was. “Don’t apologize. You couldn’t possibly have known.”

“Still doesn’t help get rid of that feeling like I ought to eat my gunpowder,” Ben said, and the prince chuckled again.

“Like I said, you couldn’t have known.” He sat back down on a fallen tree he had been sitting on before, his elbows resting on his knees. The dog came and sat beside him, looking up with adoring eyes. “It still hurts, obviously—it’s been a few weeks now, and I’m still raw with it. But I’ve since come to understand that this is only one of Logan’s many atrocities. Elise is not the only person he has ripped away from their loved ones, and she won’t be the last.” He looked up at Ben again, an unsure look on his face. “But just because I know this pain personally doesn’t mean that the people who have suffered in Bowerstone will accept me wholeheartedly. I feel like I know far too little about them. I don’t want to unnecessarily bide my time, of course, but I do want to be able to look them in the eye and properly understand them.”

Ben nodded. He couldn’t imagine feeling alien in that way. Sure, he’d been an outcast in a family of outcasts, most of whom turned criminal, but he’d at least been able to look around Bowerstone and see a bunch of people wading through much of the same.

Part of Ben was a little bitter, considering the prince’s enormous wealth and the monarchy he was fighting toward, but another part of Ben reminded him that he wasn’t just waiting for Logan to die off so he could snag the throne—he was out among the people. He left every coin he had behind in that palace, and made himself an enemy to Logan, the fiercest and least merciful man Albion had known since the dark ages. There was a very good chance the prince would _die_ on this quest, and all to dethrone Logan and take his place, in the hopes that he would be a kinder ruler in his stead. He’d given up safety and comfort for a crazy pipe dream.

And he didn’t just want to do it. He wanted to do it _right_.

“So what’s your plan, then?” Ben asked, and the prince looked up, having gotten lost in thought.

“I was thinking of returning to Brightwall,” he replied. “Just for a few days. The Academy _must_ have some tomes on Bowerstone’s history, and I’m sure Samuel will let me use the Academy regardless of Logan’s restrictions.” His face adopted a far off look, and he grew very still.

“I’ll come with you,” Ben said, and then grew confused. He hadn’t meant to say that. Must’ve been the look on the prince’s face.

The prince also looked confused. “What?” he asked.

“I said I’ll come with you,” Ben replied, pulling away from the wall. “Why not? I’m not needed here, not really: Swift has this place covered, and I’d feel a bit chagrined letting you go out on your own.”

“You do realize I’ve defeated entire bandit camps by myself, right?” the prince asked, but he was smiling.

“Yeah,” Ben replied, “but it’s never a bad time to have an extra pair of hands, just in case. Besides, it’s been a while since I was last at the Academy.”

“I didn’t take you for a bibliophile, Ben,” the prince said, rising to his feet.

“’M not,” Ben replied. “I’m just nostalgic is all.”

“Fine,” the prince said, grinning. “You can come with me.” He held out his hand to Ben.

Ben shook it, grinning himself. “Great,” he said. “I’ve got to wee first, though, so—”

The prince held up his hands, already walking back toward the entry to the fort. “Say no more,” he said. “I’ll be talking to Major Swift. Meet me inside when you’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been playing the Fable games a lot lately to fight off the blues, and as a result, I'm going to write a LOT of Fable fanfiction. I already have so much planned, it's very stupid.
> 
> I'm going to try to be regular about this, to ease myself back into regular writing sprees again. Hopefully this is enjoyable!
> 
> P.S: Ben Finn and Hero of Brightwall friendship gives me LIFE


	2. Mistpeak Valley

In the journey to Brightwall, Ben learned quite a few things about the hero.

Firstly, the hammer he wielded on his back was indeed his preferred weapon. As impractical and heavy as it was, the prince defended it. “My family’s been known to use some pretty strange weapons, so maybe it’s hereditary,” he said, and it echoed through the chambers of the underground. They’d encountered a group of Hobbes here and there, but nothing they couldn’t manage swiftly. The moments they had to themselves were those where they walked companionably and kept pace, spotting the silence with conversation now and again. It was fairly pleasant. “My mother used a cane.”

Ben snorted. “A cane?” he asked. “What, did she have trouble walking at a young age?”

The prince laughed. “No,” he hummed. “Cane’s the wrong word. I guess you could call it a staff? It channeled magic mostly, helped her cast some seriously destructive spells in her heyday.”

Ben glanced toward him, somewhat fascinated. He hadn’t heard many specifics about the late queen, only knowing the basic stories everyone and their mums knew: she united Albion under one banner, and she loved her people dearly.

“Really?” he asked, and the prince looked at him, practically glowing with happiness.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I remember the staff always being by her bed. It had an orb at the top, and it was studded all the way through with gold. I’d heard stories from Walter that my mom said gold was magically conductive, but I can’t remember how or why. I was very little back then.”

“So she’d shoot spells out of the staff, then?” It made sense: the prince had gauntlets on his hands that channeled magic, so maybe her staff did the same thing.

But the prince shook his head. “No, she shot spells out of her hands,” he said. “Didn’t even need gauntlets, either. She mostly used the staff for beating people with.”

Ben choked out a laugh, and the prince laughed along with him. “What, she just thumped people with the staff?”

“Yeah,” the prince said, and Ben’s laugh grew louder. “So see? I’m from a family of eccentric weapon-users. It’s in my blood.”

The second thing Ben learned was the whole “Hero of Brightwall” thing, which had ended in much gleeful prodding from Ben and many dark grumblings and vague threats from the prince. Admittedly, the entire thing was pretty nice. The prince was a more-than-decent fellow, if a bit naïve, but Ben could hardly fault him for that. He was also quick on the uptake, and was a great listener. To top it off, he had great respect for the army, which made Ben happier than he should have been.

The third and final thing Ben learned on this journey was that if there wasn’t a linear path to follow, the prince got utterly _lost_.

“Are you serious?” Ben asked. They’d been walking around Mistpeak Valley for an hour when Ben realized that he’d seen that lake before. Twice.

He’d admittedly not been paying much attention to where they were going at first, too busy taking in the crisp mountain air and the gorgeous sight of lush grass and fresh flowing water. It’d been a long while since he’d seen a thriving natural world, the forest of Mourningwood admittedly more bog than actual woods. He hadn’t realized it until he’d arrived in Mistpeak, but he’d been going a bit stir-crazy there.

When he’d awoken from his stupor, feeling much better for it, he’d found out they were stranded somewhere in Mistpeak Valley. The hero was apparently having zero luck with his map, which he disappeared frequently to look at. _Literally._ A flash of light, and the hero was gone, only to reappear in another burst exactly where he’d left from. Ben was _not_ fond of that at all.

“I can’t bring the map back with me,” the prince said apologetically. “It’s an entire table. It’s literally built into the Sanctuary.”

“Can’t you just bring me with you?” Ben asked, feeling rather testy. “I reckon I can read a map better than you, considering it’s an occupational requirement.”

“I’m not sure how to bring you with me without a cullis gate,” the prince replied. “The only cullis gate nearby is in the Dweller camp, which we can’t find our way to without the map.” The prince bit his lip, looking around, though Ben thought it was more to avoid catching his eye than to actually figure out where they were. If he wasn’t royalty—no, scratch that. If he wasn’t necessary to the survival of many people, Ben would’ve strangled him by now.

“Look, I can see the bandit camp from here,” the prince said, pointing. “If we just follow the ridge of the mountains from there, surely we can at least find a path.”

“There are paths _everywhere_ ,” Ben said, but the prince already started off toward the bandit camp, plucky little mutt in tow. Grumbling, Ben followed.

They followed the path down further into the valley, the wooden walls of the bandit camp rising like primitive spires, but despite the hateful looks the two bandits on guard on the watchtowers shot their way, they were not accosted. Ben kept his hand on his pistol nevertheless, not one to trust so easily. The prince had no such qualms, even shooting the bandits a smile and a wave, which they returned with a solemn nod.

They took a sharp left before nearing the bandit camp too closely, and Ben watched their backs until they were obscured by the rocks and trees. His grip on his pistol was more loose, then, and he let himself be enveloped in the scent of the pines all around him. The ground was firm underneath his feet, not muddy or bone dry like it tended to be in Mourningwood, and the crunch of pine cones and needles under his boots was a welcome sound.

Soon, however, they left the canopy of the trees, moving into the snow, and the walls of rock grew high around them. They passed under a bridge, its lumber creaking in the breeze and the chill, and Ben blew out a breath, watching its cloudy form float away. “It’s supposed to get colder, right?” he asked, but the prince didn’t say anything, his eyes wide open and flicking in every direction.

Eventually, the path widened, and the prince stopped, staring straight ahead. Ben followed his gaze, his eyes widening.

In the rock wall before them was a stone archway with two large pillars on either side of it, rounded off with time and weather. Within that archway was another, smaller archway, and carved within that was a large face with thick whorls of hair.

“What the bloody hell _is_ that?” Ben said, and the prince turned to him, his eyes wide.

“It’s a Demon Door,” the prince replied in a hushed tone, leaning closer to Ben. “They’re ancient doors that will only open if a Hero does as they ask. They’re said to hide immense treasures, like weapons from Heroes of old, or ancient texts.”

“What, really?” Ben asked, lowering his voice in kind and glancing at the door. “So you’re telling me that’s a sentient door that’s going to ask you to do something if you go up to it?”

“I think so,” the prince replied. “Should I try it?”

“Why not? It’s not every day one finds a door of legend, right?”

The prince smiled. “Right. Okay.”

He spun on his heel, turning to face the door again, and slowly walked toward it. Ben followed shortly behind him, keeping a close eye on the face of the door, waiting for it to speak. What he wasn’t expecting was for the face to yawn, stretching itself out as if awakening from a deep slumber, the stone somehow stretching and folding just like human skin. It was as unsettling as it was awe-inspiring.

The prince did not waver, simply waiting for the door to awaken. And it did, casting its grey gaze down on them.

“Ah, perfect!” it boomed in a loud voice that Ben was admittedly not expecting at all. “Just what I was looking for: A Hero with a companion! Excellent!”

The prince shot Ben a confused glance before looking back at the Demon Door.

“What do you need?” The prince asked.

“I’m in the middle of writing a book, you see—it’s the tale of a romance between two warriors who are madly in love. But I’m having a bit of trouble thinking of a few romantic scenes, and I need them acted out so I can _really_ visualize them.”

Ben sputtered, trying to tamp down an unexpected bout of laughter, but if the prince’s snort was any indication, he needn’t have bothered. The prince shot Ben an encouraging smile, reaching out toward him, and Ben stepped closer to the Demon Door, standing by the prince’s side.

For a moment, the two of them thought, and despite Ben’s prowess with romantic pursuits, he wasn’t coming up with anything. It’s not that he didn’t have any of the chops for it—oh no, plenty of women could tell anyone who asked just how well Ben did when it came to romance and charm. It’s simply that he didn’t know how to apply these chops to men specifically. Did things change between the sexes, or were they the same?

But then the prince turned to Ben, raised his arms, and _flexed._ And Ben was shocked into complete stillness, watching the twinkle in the prince’s eyes as he let out a series of grunts and growls that could only be attempts at seeming masculine or sexy, but falling desperately off the mark. Ben covered his mouth with both hands, trying to disguise his sudden exhale of laughter as adoring shock.

“Oh, that is _good,_ ” the Demon Door said, and the prince dropped his pose, grinning like a madman. “That is excellent for when they’re picnicking at the beach.”

Ben’s heart lifted at the prince’s smile and the door’s words. Well. If it was going to be that easy and not at all serious, then this wasn’t so hard after all.

For a few minutes, Ben and the prince exchanged “romantic” gestures, ranging from a wolf-whistle that branched into a harmonizing whistling session between the two of them, to a tight embrace, both of them patting one another’s backs harder and harder until they were knocking the breath out of each other and hiding their faces, chuckling into one another’s shoulders. At one point, the prince growled at Ben and pawed at his shoulder while making a very ridiculous face, which had Ben turning away and trying to hide his laughter, resulting in a high-pitched squeak seeping out of him that the door thankfully misconstrued for some form of arousal (which got the prince to actually try to calm himself by rubbing snow on his cheeks, his shoulders shaking with mirth).

Finally, however, their fun came to an end, and the door conceded that he had enough scenes to finish his book. He bid them adieu and popped open with a cheerful, “Now when I write my characters shagging at the end, it’ll _really_ pop!”

They were quiet as the door slid open, the swirling vortex of color and light revealing itself to them. But as soon as all was quiet except the hum of the waiting portal, Ben snuck a glance at the prince and found him staring right back. Then, they broke down into laughter.

“A shag!” Ben crowed. “All that talk of romance just so they’ll _shag_.”

“Remind me never to read that book,” the prince replied, wiping tears from his eyes.

They calmed down soon enough, chuckles dying away, and Ben was captivated by the Demon Door again. The portal almost seemed liquid, but Ben knew it wasn’t. Liquid didn’t ripple _sideways_ , perpendicular to the force of gravity, and it certainly didn’t bend light into colors like that. He was almost convinced he was seeing colors he’d never even seen before.

“What do we do now?” the prince asked, and Ben quirked a brow at him.

“We go in, you numpty,” he replied, and the prince playfully socked Ben in the shoulder.

“Are you sure?” the prince asked, stepping closer to the door and looking at it. His eyes didn’t seem to follow the colors as much as Ben’s did, and he wondered if the prince was seeing something different than he was. Maybe a Hero’s eyes interacted with Demon Doors differently than other people? “I’m not entirely sure I know where it goes.”

“Well, you got it open,” Ben replied, stepping to stand next to the prince again. “It seems like a waste to not go check it out, right?”

The prince shrugged. “I mean, sure,” he said. “But I’ve never been in a Demon Door before. I’ve only ever read about them, or heard about them.” He reached forward slowly, engrossed in the Demon Door, and his hand touched the surface of the portal. His eyes widened, and he blinked several times before letting out a breathless laugh. “It’s a Demon Door retirement home.”

“A what?” Ben asked, perplexed by the non sequitur.

“I touched the door, and it told me where it leads.” He turned to look at Ben, grinning broadly. “It goes to a Demon Door retirement home. Shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

“What on earth would a Demon Door retirement home entail?” Ben asked, looking at the portal with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“Well,” the prince began, tapping his hand on his chin as he thought, “Demon Doors have been around since the Old Kingdom. They were created with the almost express purpose of concealing treasures from people, although some think that they may also have served the purpose of preserving information and history or even serving as sanctuaries and homes to some of history’s greatest Heroes. Since Demon Doors have been around that long, and are fairly old even _before_ they are discovered for the first time by a Hero, it’s safe to say they are immortal. That means that even after they have fulfilled their purpose and have been opened, they still exist somewhere.”

“Their job is done,” Ben said. “So they retire.”

“Exactly.”

They were quiet for a moment, the door humming before them.

“So,” Ben said. “Shall we go in?”

The prince looked pensive again, eyes glazed as he looked at the door, as if seeing something Ben wasn’t. But he came back to himself soon enough, and shot Ben a soft smile. “Sure,” he replied.

“Great,” Ben said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve got a few questions to ask those buggers about history. They should have some fairly interesting stories to tell.”

The prince laughed. “I’m sure,” he said.

Ben waited a second or two for the prince to move toward the door, but he was staring at it again, that far off look in his eyes and his face void of any emotion. So Ben took initiative, reaching out toward it.

“See you on the other side, mate!” he called cheerfully, and his hand brushed against the pulsating surface of the door.

The prince’s face contorted in horror, and he reached out toward Ben, but it was too late. Ben heard something awful, like the entire world was rushing up to meet him, a celestial body soaring through the atmosphere and roaring directly toward him. A dreaded coolness shifted up Ben’s arm and across his shoulders, wrenching the breath from his lungs and making his heart stutter.

“Ben!” the prince cried, reaching at once toward Ben and the door, but his grip faltered. The dog was barking, and Ben got one last look at the prince’s worried and terrified face before the prince disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bent the rules for the Demon Door so it’d work with the universe. Since the Hero of Brightwall is the only Hero in Albion (besides Reaver, which ew, no, Theresa, and maybe Garth), I basically just made it so the Demon Door wanted to see romantic gestures between two people in general, one of which is a Hero, since Demon Doors seem to only respond to Heroes canonically.
> 
> I'm posting these chapters after I finish the chapter after them, as a sort of motivation for me to keep writing. Hopefully that works out!
> 
> And I'm working on my other WIP (The Ragged Mists and Arts of Domesticity) as well! Not sure when anything is coming out, but at least you know I'm hard at work!


End file.
